


Hope Like Whiskey

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Introspection, Spoilers for Episode 164, Wilde is (not) fine, at least a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25777036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Oscar closes his eyes and takes a gulp of whiskey. It burns and soothes him all at once. Just like hope.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Hope Like Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> This might have come about because I saw a video of Hozier singing a few verses of "[The Humours of Whiskey](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQ-UItNBoMw)" ages ago and knew I had to put it in a Wilde fic *somewhere.* By might I mean it did.

Oscar’s room is so small that he’s practically slumped on the bed before the sound of the door closing fades from the air. He waits for the sound of Hamid’s footsteps to fade as well, his head in his hands. He’s more tired than he had been before Hamid had come knocking on his door, had come bearing questions and good intentions and how can a person so small have a heart so damn _big_?

For a moment Oscar thinks of grey skin and red eyes, of long ears and a sharp-toothed grin. He takes a deep breath and turns away from those thoughts. He’s had practice. Instead he rubs at his temples, trying to massage away the ache he can feel trying to form. He had _meant_ for that conversation to be, well, less boldly honest. Not full of lies, no, but some truths are heavier than others. He had planned to steer Hamid around those things he hadn’t wished to speak of. It’s a dance Oscar prides himself on, one he’s danced many a time with a hundred different people. He supposes he’s out of practice though, had let Hamid take the lead with his gentle earnestness and his _hope._ Between Hamid and Zolf, Oscar might actually start believing they might be able to save what’s left of the world, that there might be enough of the world _left_ to save after all this.

But he’s always believed that, hasn’t he, deep down in his tragically poetic heart, just a little? Even though he knows the chance is hardly more than nothing. Even though some days he’s not sure if he really believes that this—plague? Incursion? If what is happening in the world will ever end in anything but blue veins spreading out to consume every person on the planet. Even under that thought is the _what if_ that maybe it doesn’t have to be so.

And now there’s another _what if_ , isn’t there?

The bottle of whiskey is well hidden in Oscar’s things. He’s fairly sure Amelia isn’t going to be coming near his room, even in search of a drink, but better to have the temptation stowed away anyway. He pours himself a glass and holds it in his hands, staring into the golden depths.

When Oscar had first gotten the anti-magic manacles put on, they had felt so heavy. It had taken him some time, especially in those first few days when he had still been recovering from too much work and no good sleep and almost dying, to adjust to the weight enough to walk without dragging his feet. It had taken even longer to practice how to walk like there was nothing weighing him down, that he was as light-footed as he always had been. After awhile they hadn’t felt heavy anymore.

They feel heavy now, just like how the hope that Hamid had brought with him had turned into something sharp.

_“You know,”_ Hamid says in his memory. _“This kind of remote magical action does require an arcane link.”_

Oscar still remembers the nightmares, remembers the endless nights of wakefulness that had turned into mornings where he had to act like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t dizzy with exhaustion, like he wasn’t barely containing the impulse to flinch at every lurching, flickering shadow. When the night had come when something in his brain had quietly, gently given out, he remembered his last thought had been that maybe now he’d be able to get some rest.

_“The arcane link depends on the connection of the person it was taken from. People change.”_

Oscar continues staring down into his drink. He opens his mouth and music flows out with his breath, causing the whiskey to ripple in the glass.

_“_ _Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle_

_What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream_

_What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal_

_What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam….”_

For all that Wilde’s out of practice and his posture all wrong for singing, the words pour from him easily, clear and strong and honey sweet. But there’s no magic in the melody and part of him feels hollow, as if the song has taken something vital with him.

“ _How much have you changed, Oscar?”_

What if? What if Hamid is right? What if he got the cuffs removed tomorrow and the magic filled him up again? What if words and melodies could make the world bend towards him once more? What if there were no screaming nightmares and sleepless nights and—?

Oscar remembers blood on his desk, darker than the red of Grizzop’s eyes. If the paladin had found him only moments later, would Oscar have died? Or maybe he would have lived, brain damaged, perhaps unable to move or speak properly again. Either of those might be his fate now if the link is still active and he removes his protection. His mind might not survive a second time.

Oscar closes his eyes and takes a gulp of whiskey. It burns and soothes him all at once. Just like hope.

“Not enough, Hamid,” Oscar says softly. “Not nearly enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m [angel-ascending](http://angel-ascending.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr and [angel_in_ink](http://twitter.com/angel_in_ink) over on Twitter if y’all want to stop by and say hi!


End file.
